


Peaceful At Last

by Cheshagirl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Love, Multi, Other, just really really soft fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:16:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22655992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshagirl/pseuds/Cheshagirl
Summary: Normally, he’d respond with something dismissive, trying to disperse any loving moments as quickly as they’d come but tonight he stays silent.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 112





	Peaceful At Last

**Author's Note:**

> saint-nevermore requested geralt/reader on my tumblr so of course I made it soft
> 
> if you liked this fic leave a comment!  
If you want to request something or see more of my work check out my tumblr: cheshawrites

Tallgrass shimmering in the moonlight, crickets, and cicadas chirping for the quiet world. A poppy bends in the cool night breeze and tickles against your cheek. He’s sleeping, ashen hair spread out on the ground like molten silver poured into its mold. Though his rest deprives you of the beautiful golden hue that made up his iris’s, the peaceful look on his face pleases you just as much. He never truly relaxed any other time, weary from monsters and humans that would try to bring him harm. Years of exhaustion and anger and fighting seemed to melt away when he slept.

“You’re staring.” His gruff voice breaks the night’s simple tone. One yellow orb cracks open to peer at you, amusement evident. 

With a sigh you reply, “Appreciating what you were gifted, Geralt. And wishing you looked that peaceful more often.”

Geralt snorts, turning back to the sky and avoiding your gaze. Compliments didn’t sit well with him. He was used to harsh comments and piercing words, adoration and praise was foreign. Your hand reaches out to brush your knuckles down the slope of his cheeks, barely grazing. The featherlight touch sends shivers down his spine. You smile when he leans into your hand. His eyes close, and the faintest trace of a smile appears.

“There it is,” You whisper tenderly, eyes tracing down every ridge and plane of his face. Normally, he’d respond with something dismissive, trying to disperse any loving moments as quickly as they’d come but tonight he stays silent. He allows himself to fall asleep to the gentle sweeps of your fingers against his face, and the faint calls of an owl in the distance.


End file.
